


Auribus Teneo Lupum

by bulma90_13



Category: Justified, Political Animals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Domestic Violence, Drug Addiction, Extremely Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulma90_13/pseuds/bulma90_13
Summary: The first year of his mother's presidency, TJ Hammond is kidnapped by his ex-dealer from his college days and the Lexington US Marshals are on the task force assigned to bring his kidnapper to justice.  Things get a little more complicated when Tim goes undercover to get their man, and also save TJ.(I suck at summaries.  -_-)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [closet cases and one night stands or what the hell is bravery anyway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513883) by [norgbelulah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah). 



> TIMELINE CHANGE! This is set sometime after Season 4-5 in a make-believe timeline. Art is still chief and was never shot. Ava and Boyd are together, she never went to prison. Winona is pregnant and her and Raylan are trying to make it work. So, just go with it. All of it. The Politcal Animals timeline is messed up anyway, so I'm not even going there. This is supposed to be fun, not a published thing that is edited for hours before public consumption. I don't know anything about how government agencies really work. I don't know anything about most of what I'm writing about, so we're going to take the James Bond approach and just suspend disbelief. Ok? Ok.
> 
> HUGE kudos to author norgbelulah, without whom I would have never read about TJ Hammond dating Tim Gutterson and thus, never would have felt compelled to binge watch Justified and then become hopelessly obsessed with a new fandom ripe with UST. God Bless. But seriously, go read her stuff.

Raylan was used to everyone else beating him to the office, but it seemed that today, he was also bested by the DEA, DIA and possibly the FBI.

He adjusted his stetson, watching everyone crammed into the bullpen. Someone must've really fucked up.

He pulled the glass door open and Art honed in on him like a heat-seeking missile.

“Raylan, please take Agent Martinez into the conference room. I'll be there in just a minute.”

Not so much as a good morning. Art looked red-faced and out of breath. Raylan turned to look at Agent Martinez, a petite Latina with a braid down her back.

“This way, ma'am,” he started.

“Agent,” she corrected, giving herself away as an FBI asshole. Raylan only just kept from rolling his eyes.

It was too early for this horseshit. And he didn't even know what happened.

The conference room was already packed, but Raylan did as Art told him. He took a look at the fugitive pulled up on the large projector.

_James Dean Taylor._

Why did that name sound so familiar? Then Raylan snorted. “He's named after a movie star?”

Martinez looked unimpressed. “He looks about as much like James Dean as I do.”

Raylan nodded. Taylor was dark skinned, 6'3'', and weighed a good bit more than the dead Hollywood heartthrob. Goes by "Blaze." He was also wanted for escape from custody, arms smuggling, narcotics, murder, armed assault, unlawful flight to avoid prosecution, and kidnapping.

Previously served in the U.S. Army as an infantry soldier.

Well, shit. Raylan shook his head. How was he not one of their top 15?

He must've said that out loud, because Art answered him, “Because he was in custody. District out of Nashville was transporting him to a hearing yesterday and he gave them the slip.”

Art turned to the crowded room and raised his voice over the chatter. “For those of you just joining us, approximately 5 hours ago, Secret Service agents reported Thomas Hammond missing after he failed to check in for the night. Upon entering his apartment and reviewing the security footage, it appears that the fugitive James Dean Taylor entered Mr. Hammond's apartment and–”

At this point, Raylan tuned Art out, because he now knew why everyone was acting like it was the Apocalypse. POTUS's son was kidnapped by an armed and dangerous federal fugitive.

Raylan watched as Art motioned to the projector where he saw some black and white footage of Taylor muscling his way into the apartment. Hammond looked surprised to see him, but not immediately hostile. It wasn't until Taylor shoved him face-first into the wall that he started to struggle. Taylor managed to get his pants halfway down before Hammond elbowed him in the face and got out from under him. He watched as Taylor grabbed Hammond's arm like a rag doll and shoved him to the ground. Hammond spun out, his head struck the granite countertop, and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Taylor then picked him up, bridal-style, kissed him almost gingerly on his bleeding head, and walked out of the apartment.

Raylan tore his eyes from the screen and looked at Art.

He was still prattling on about “interdepartmental-cooperation” and how it was everyone's mission to find Taylor as soon as possible.

Well, no shit, Raylan thought.

He saw Tim out of the corner of his eye. He looked grumpy. Then he locked eyes with Raylan and everyone started moving.

“Raylan, you're with Tim.”

Raylan nodded, though he didn't know what Art was saying before that. He was sure Tim would tell him.

They were already in Tim's SUV and driving northwest before Tim finally decieded to talk to him.

“Can you believe this shit?”

Raylan tried to appear noncommittal. “Which part?” He was hoping Tim wasn't referring to Art pairing them together. That would sting.

“The guy hasn't seen him in almost a decade, and the first thing he does when he escapes custody is hunt down his ex and kidnap him?”

Oh, well that made more sense to Raylan. The part about him being an ex. Love made people do all sorts of crazy things, but Raylan didn't think Tim had anyone special in his life, so maybe he just didn't understand.

Raylan realized Tim was actually expecting a response, so he cleared his throat. “I'm more surprised that we're on this case at all. Doesn't the kid live in D.C.?”

Tim's sharp blue eyes snapped over to Raylan's before going back to the road. He huffed. “Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you weren't paying attention. The case does seem to be lacking blonde hair and tits.”

Raylan sat up a little straighter in his seat, pissed.

Tim rolled his eyes and took pity on him. “Taylor's got a brother in Louisville, Raylan. That's why everyone's scrambling around here. And TJ Hammond hasn't lived in D.C. since his mother became President.”

Raylan felt profoundly stupid. He really shouldn't have stayed late at Winona's last night.

Huffing, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his work phone. His inbox was full of incoming intel on Hammond and Taylor.

He scanned the information. Hammond's apartment in Memphis. His burgeoning music career. Trying to distance himself from his drug habit.

Failing to do so as his past caught up with him.

Still looking down at the information, Raylan asked Tim, “Do you really think that Taylor would take him to Louisville?”

Tim shrugged, seemingly placated by Raylan's sudden serious interest in the case. “I think he knows that the Secret Service will be crawling all over Memphis, and he can't stay there. Seems like the next logical step.”

Raylan gave him a side-glance. “Don't you think he knows we know that?”

Tim shrugged again. “He's escaped custody once. Maybe he thinks we're a bunch of idiots.”

Raylan tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. It was still at least another hour to Louisville.


	2. Chapter 2

TJ tried to sit up, but his head felt heavier than normal. He blinked rapidly, trying to see his surroundings. The room was dimly lit, the windows seemed boarded up, and the couch he was laying on was lumpy. He felt damp everywhere, like he'd been sweating for hours.

He didn't feel right. He knew he was on something. The thought of being sober for the past 6 months and then not even knowing what drug he'd taken made him sick, but he swallowed down whatever was threatening to come up and took a better look around.

The door to the small room he was in looked to be just a large piece of plywood. There was light around all the edges and TJ could hear dull laughter.

He was cold. He was still in his t-shirt and pajama bottoms from when James knocked on his door and muscled his way into his apartment. TJ hadn't seen him in years. He was honestly shocked to see him.

And James acted just like he always had. Like TJ was still his.

TJ took a shaky breath and scooted off the couch. He padded over to the makeshift door in his bare feet and tried to push it. It wobbled a bit, but wouldn't budge very much.

The dull chatter on the other side came to a stop.

TJ backpedaled until he was sitting back on the couch as someone stomped over to the door. He heard whoever it was fiddle with keys, unlocking what sounded like a padlock.

From the large silhouette, TJ knew it was James.

TJ forced a smile onto his face, blinking the light out of his eyes, “Hey, baby.”

James walked into the small room and grabbed TJ's jaw, turning his head to the side to look at his temple. TJ barely held back a flinch as James brought his hand up to gingerly prod at his temple.

“It's nothing, baby. I'm fine.” TJ tried to smile, though he was sure it was more like a grimace.

James's face was still hidden in shadow, and he said nothing.

TJ swallowed. “Where are we?”

In the dim light, TJ could see the light reflect off of his squinted eyes. “Why? You thinking of running?”

TJ laughed. “Of course not, baby. Why would I run?”

James wasn't convinced. He grabbed TJ by the hair and pushed him back further into the couch. TJ didn't resist.

“When did you get out?” TJ asked instead.

“Couple days ago,” James muttered. “Had to make sure I had a place for us to stay.”

TJ's head was pounding, but James had loosened his hold on his hair. “You could've asked me. I have plenty of places we can go.”

James leaned close and sneered. “Oh yeah? Who's dick have you been sucking to get your fix?”

TJ didn't dare blink. “Baby, I swear, I didn't—”

Just then, James leaned back and started laughing. Hard.

“The look on your face!” James snorted between breaths. “I know all about Omar. He's my cousin. Though my...associates never did find your dealer in Memphis.”

TJ looked down at his hands. He hoped James couldn't see them shaking. “I got clean for a bit. Hadn't found a new one yet.”

James seemed to accept that and ran a hand through TJ's hair, his fingers snaking to the back of his neck and pulling TJ forward just a bit. “You don't gotta worry about that anymore.”

TJ looked up. “What do you mean?”

James stood up from his crouch in front of TJ and walked back to the open doorway. “We're just gonna stay here for a bit. Until I have the money to get us gone.”

TJ's heart started pounding so hard, he was sure James could hear it. “Gone where, baby?”

TJ couldn't make out James's expression in the low light. “You need something to help you sleep?” James asked.

TJ shook his head so hard he groaned in pain.

James was back in front of him in an instant. “Sure you do. Here.” He handed TJ a pill. He couldn't tell what shape or color it was in the dark. TJ prayed it was something innocuous, like Xanax. He swallowed it obediently.

James leaned forward and pressed his lips to TJ's. TJ blinked several times.

It became harder to keep blinking, so TJ stopped trying to open his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Taylor had a half-brother that lived in Shawnee. Local police had their eye on Demarcus “Mac” Taylor for a while, but they couldn't link him to anything.

Tim shrugged as they made their way up to his house. “Looks pretty nice for a drug dealer.”

Raylan smirked. “I think he needs to water his grass a little.”

Tim reached the door first. He looked back at Raylan for an instant before knocking. Both of the men rested their hands casually on their hips, displaying both their firearms and their badges.

After a few more knocks, the door opened to reveal Mac. He didn't look surprised to see them.

“Whatchu want?”

Raylan smiled and held up his badge. “Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens. This is my partner, Deputy Gutterson. We'd like to ask you about your brother.”

“Man, I ain't seen him in months. And even if I did, what makes you think I'd tell you?”

Raylan cocked his head to the side. “Because, Mac, your brother is a real dipshit. Kidnapping the President's son is kinda the equivalent of kicking the Federal hornet's nest. You want business to continue for you as usual? Help us out. Where's he staying? Cause by the look of this place, it ain't here.”

Mac looked back into his house and crossed his arms over his chest. “What's wrong with my place?”

Raylan smiled again, this time with an angry glint in his eye. “I don't have time to play games with you. Your brother put the two Marshals that were transporting him to his parole hearing yesterday into intensive care. You can either help us bring him in peacefully, or you can expect the Marshal service, FBI, DEA and Secret Service to sniff around here until we find him and put him down like a rabid dog.”

Mac smirked back. “Well, like I said...I ain't seen him.”

Raylan breathed heavily out his nose, his eyes flashing to Tim.

“If you do, Mr. Taylor, be sure to give us a call.” Tim drawled, holding out his business card. “There's still a chance your brother gets out of this alive.”

Mac took the card and slammed the door in their faces.

The two Marshals headed back to Tim's SUV.

“You think he's lying?” Tim asked.

“Oh, absolutely.” Raylan said. “Question is...why? What has Taylor promised him?”

Tim climbed into his Tahoe. “Given his track record, I'd say drugs, guns or some combination of the two.”

Raylan adjusted his stetson and reached for his phone. “Gonna give Art a call, see who he wants to have sit on the brother.”

***

Much to Raylan's chagrin, Art wanted them to stay with the brother instead of follow up more exciting leads. And after two days of watching Mac go absolutely nowhere, Art finally pulled the plug.

Raylan was pissy as Tim pulled onto the highway back to Lexington.

“We coulda caught him if Art had given us just a couple more days. FBI's trail's run cold by now. Mac is the only thing that makes sense and now we're leaving it up to the locals to watch him. He's gonna slip right past them to wherever slum Taylor is hiding in—”

“You need a refill on your sippy cup?” Tim interrupted. He could practically see the vein on Raylan's temple pulsing.

Raylan turned to look at him. “This doesn't piss you off?”

Tim sighed. “Course it does, but bitchin' about it doesn't change anything. We can't sit on him forever, and maybe there's something we missed. Another look at the evidence isn't a bad idea.”

Raylan rolled his eyes and looked out the window. He lasted all of 30 seconds.

“I'm hungry,” he complained.

It was Tim's turn to roll his eyes, but he just managed to refrain. “We'll be back in Lexington in a bit.”

Raylan was insisting. “I need an ice cream.”

Tim's mouth twisted in what was most certainly not a smirk. “Are you just trying to think of anything to keep us here?”

Tim finally relented and pulled into a Pilot just outside Shelbyville.

“Here, now go get your damn ice cream.”

Raylan handed Tim a bill. “You go on ahead. I gotta make a phone call.”

And really, Tim reasoned as he grabbed the bill from Raylan, he should be used to it by now.

***

Tim loved his job. He loved hunting fugitives. He loved researching and reading about them. Joining the Marshal Service after leaving the Army was the best damn decision he'd made in a long time. He didn't have to come up with an excuse to tell himself it was alright to check every corner of the truck stop convenience store. It was all part of being a good deputy.

Once he was satisfied with the lack of people, he made his way to the wall of coolers. He was going to find the shittiest looking ice cream, freezer burn and all.

He walked past a kid staring intently at the booze and did a double take.

Because holy fuck, it was TJ Hammond.

He looked pale and underweight and had nasty bruising around his temple, but it was absolutely him. His hair was damp and his skin was a little flushed, like he had just taken a shower.

Before Tim could say anything, TJ spun towards him with an almost manic grin on his face.

“Oh my god, how are you?!” TJ spoke way louder than was necessary, grabbing Tim around the shoulders and hugging him tightly. He smelled like cheap soap. Tim was frozen in shock, but patted him lightly on the back in automatic response.

A man was suddenly right behind them. He was easily two heads taller than Tim and almost twice as wide. The hair on the back of Tim's neck stood up. He didn't see a gun, but he swore he could taste the oil in the air.

TJ half-turned to address the man with a smile. “Mickey, this is an old roommate of mine from Rhodes!”

Tim forced himself to turn around slowly. “I'm Tim.” Tim held out his hand, hoping his jacket was covering his badge. Tim had never met TJ before in his life, and certainly never roomed with him in college. TJ obviously had a plan, and Tim didn't want to fuck it up.

The man didn't smile, nor did he take Tim's hand, so he lowered it. The man, Mickey, was holding a plastic bag in his left hand. Had he taken Tim's hand, Tim would've tried to take him down, size difference be damned. Tim silently prayed that Raylan would get bored in the car and come in.

TJ drew his attention away from the threat. “So what brings you all the way to Kentucky, Tim?”

Tim looked back at TJ. His eyes were glossy, like Mark's would get when he was high as a kite but still trying to maintain some control, to give the illusion that he wasn't.

“Work,” Tim answered simply. “You?”

“Same,” TJ grinned, still looking manic and on the verge of a panic attack. Tim was trying to work out how to get him away from Mickey when he suddenly grabbed TJ by the upper arm.

“Get your shit and let's go,” Mickey growled at TJ, and pushed him toward the cooler holding the liquor.

Tim was desperate for time. Raylan had to get suspicious eventually. He muttered, “Lucky this isn't a dry county. My work takes me too far east where the lawmakers have lost all sense.”

Mickey was glaring at Tim, but Tim ignored him. TJ reached for the door on the cooler. He was shaking.

“Oh yeah?” He asked Tim. His voice was shaking, too.

“Yeah, but lucky my boss owns a bar 'cross the county line, so it all works out.”

Tim didn't know why he was suddenly building this persona in his head that apparently worked for criminals, of all people, but it kept him talking and was at least giving Raylan more time to walk through that door.

Mickey tilted his head, interested. “Who you work for?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Tim.

“Boyd Crowder,” Tim answered, meeting his eyes. And fuck, there was some recognition in Mickey's eyes. Boyd would be tickled pink to hear that. It would probably piss Raylan off to no end.

Mickey seemed to consider this. He shifted his weight and looked back at TJ, whose eyes were wide with panic.

“Go get in the car,” he growled at TJ, grabbing the bottle TJ had selected and pushing him toward the exit. Tim couldn't think of a reason for Mickey to let him follow TJ. Besides, his job was to find Taylor. Mickey would lead him there just as well.

Mickey placed the bottle in the plastic bag, then looked up at Tim. “Let your boss know that we could use some extra manpower up here. Ask him if he's interested.”

Tim blinked and nodded. “And who should I tell him is asking?”

Mickey snorted, clearly insulted. He stepped closer to Tim, towering over him. “New Dixie mafia. We're taking over. You better be on the right side, pint-size.”

Mickey walked to the exit, and Tim tried not to seem too eager to leave right after him.

By the time Tim was sure there weren't anymore New Dixie Mafia members in the store and he exited, he saw a blacked-out SUV turning out of the parking lot. He practically ran to his Tahoe.

Raylan wasn't on the phone, but looked startled as Tim peeled out of the parking lot.

“Where's my ice cream?”

“TJ Hammond was in the store,” Tim responded.

_“What?”_

“I know,” Tim said again, pulling back onto 64 and keeping a safe distance from the SUV. “I'm trailing the car. Call Art.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, Boyd had no place in this story. I didn't see how to work him in. But then my Boyd muse said "fuck that" and wrote himself in there anyway. So there's that to look forward to. 
> 
> Feedback gives me life!


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